The Ivan Saga, Part One: Shaky Beginnings
by DuffKilliganFan
Summary: In the 41st Millenium, man has found himself in a hostile universe, where everyday is a fight for survival. It will take extraordinary men to allow humanity to survive. This is the tale of such a man...
1. Future Transmissions

**Priority Level: **Magenta Alpha

**Transmitted:** Light Cruiser _Emperor's Wrath_, Task Force Retribution

**To: **Battle Cruiser _Blade of Retribution_, Tallarn High Orbit

**Date:** 243 963M41

**Transmitter:** Astropath Prime Miltiades

**Receiver: **Astropath-Terminus Quintus

**Author:** Inquisitor Gaius Cornelius Octavius Germanicus

**Thought for the Day:** History is written in blood; yours or your enemy's

Greetings Lord Inquisitor Septimius Severus,

I have, as requested, finished the definitive record of the career of Ivan out of Natalya by Volodya. I must say, I had no idea that his life had been so spotted before his work for the Inquisition. Personally, I'm amazed that did not prevent his admittance within His Most Glorious Majesty's Inquisition. However, Inquisitor Gracchi was one of the most respected Inquisitors of his time, so I suspect that had something to do with it.

My objections stated, he did do a great deal of good work for our organization before the end, and despite the questionable aspects of his previous life, did many good works for humanity as a whole. Were it not for his final treachery, his deeds and faith would have been enough to guarantee his place at the Emperor's side.

I remain His faithful servant,

Inquisitor Gaius Cornelius Octavius Germanicus

* * *

**Priority Level: **Magenta Alpha

**Transmitted:** Battle Cruiser _Blade of Retribution_, Tallarn High Orbit

**To: **Light Cruiser _Emperor's Wrath_, Task Force Retribution

**Date:** 249 963M41

**Transmitter:** Astropath Prime Tullius

**Receiver: **Astropath-Terminus Octavia

**Author:** Lord Inquisitor Septimius Severus

**Thought for the Day:** The wage of negligence is utter destruction

Inquisitor Gaius,

When one doesn't know what in the Emperor's Most Holy Name he is talking about, he shuts up.

The Emperor's mortal servant,

Lord Inquisitor Septimius Severus


	2. In the beginning

Night, if one could even tell down in the hive-city, had fallen. Work shift four was currently occupied, and the other three shifts slept soundly in their hab-units. The streets were dead silent. From the lowest streets, one could look up, and see buildings towering overhead, countless stories in the air. The massive Imperial Cathedral, a very recent reconstruction after the old one was destroyed by an earthquake, took up almost as much of the city as the Governor's palace. In-between these great edifices stood the endless sea of tight had-units, intermingled with industrial complexes and the imposing Arbites tower. The narrow streets stank, as barely concealed sewers ran beneath the pathways. Normally teeming with more life than any area should be able to truly support, they were empty in the dead of "night". One figure changed that pattern, however.

Running down the street, a figure could be seen. Factory dust turned to mud as he ran through patches where the sewers overflowed. His threadbare clothes did nothing to hide his starved frame. The tattoo on his neck stood out prominently, marking him out as a member of the hekmaioikoi, a slave given by his parents to a master to eliminate their debts.

He ran down the street as fast as he could move. His breath was coming out in painful gasps, but he kept running as he heard the sounds of his pursuers coming up behind him. The clomp of their boots and rattle of their executioner shotguns kept him moving.

He turned down the street when he heard the howl of hunter hounds, staying away from the main road, where their vehicles had access, and gave them a distinct advantage. Twisting through narrow alleyways, his lungs felt like they were on fire. His feet felt like lead, and he briefly wondered how he could keep putting each foot in front of the other one. Then another howl echoed behind him, and he stopped wondering.

His escape route took him by the Imperial Cathedral. Never quite understanding what made him turn towards the structure, he raced inside. The Cathedral was absurdly high on the outside; inside it was massive beyond all words. The roof soared more then fifty stories above him, curving in massive Imperial arches. Each pillar supporting the roof had a Space Marine carved into its base. Countless stain-glass windows lit from behind with simulated moonlight and showing the Emperor slaying the countless enemies of man, gave the entire place a holistic glow. By the door stood a massive prayer shrine, currently lit with hundreds upon hundreds of candles, each an individual prayer to the Emperor. Two statues, made in the archetypical figures of the Ecclesiarch, stood, holding bowls of holy water so one could sanctify themselves before entering the holy structure. In front of the altar stood a veritable army of Space Marine statues, stretching into the distance on either side of him. The altar itself laid hundreds of feet before him. Standing behind it, grander then anything else in the magnificent edifice was a statue of the Immortal God-Emperor of Man, framed by a massive iron and gold Aquila, the symbol of the Imperium and its true God.

The boy was temporarily taken aback by the sheer grandeur of the Cathedral. However, the howl of the hounds and curses of the Arbite enforcers behind him spurred him to action. Taking only a moment to sanctify himself with holy water, he ran into the massive standing room corridor, heading for the army of Space Marines. However, it was a long way before him, and before he made it a third of the way, the immense main doors swung open. Behind him, he heard the Arbite lieutenant give a yell; "Release the hounds before this blasphemer desecrates the Holy Shrine!"

Blasphemer!? The boy may have been many things, but a blasphemer wasn't one of them. Halting where he was, he took in a deep breath and turned to face his pursuers. Most of them were men, although a couple were women. Dressed in typical Arbite armour, they were the ultimate symbol of Imperial law within the hive-city. The woman holding the hounds had released the leash, and the great beasts raced towards the boy.

He gazed upon them with his gun-metal eyes, before turning to his tormentors, and shouted, his voice amplified by the acoustics of the building, "I may be many things, you ignorant bastard, but I am no blasphemer!" His burst had caught the Arbites by surprise, and they looked upon this small, half-starved child with bated breath.

"And they shall know no fear," he whispered under his breath as the baying hounds closed the distance.

He stared as they approached, and as the first one leapt, sprang to action. Ducking under the hounds form, he reached up. His long fingers clamped around the beast's throat, quickly cutting off its air supply. It writhed helplessly in his arms as its brethren attacked. Though their teeth tore into the boy, he did not release his grip.

"Heel!" an authoritative yet feminine voice yelled. The two hounds released the boy from their jaws, leaving bloody streaks on his flesh. The boy did not let go of the last dog until it stopped twitching in his hands. Laying the dead body beside him, the boy quickly passed in unconsciousness.

* * *

He slowly cracked open his eyes. The level of light was painfully more then he was used to in the dimly lit hive streets. As his vision cleared, he became aware of several pieces of machinery lying around his small bed. Everything smelled of bleach, and several constant sounds echoed around the tiny chamber.

Although he had never been in one before, the boy surmised he was in a medicae facility.

He felt so weak; he couldn't even move his limbs. Glancing down at his exposed left hand, he managed to move his fingers, if only barely. That alone took a great deal out of him, and he felt himself beginning to slip back into the recesses of his mind. Forcing himself to stay awake through sheer force of will, he looked around the room for something, anything that could aid him.

He wasn't left alone for long, however. The door to his room swung open. Two figures walked in. One, clearly the medicae officer, was an elderly gentleman. The hair on his head was a sheet of white. His eyes had been replaced by augmetics which whirred as they focused in and out. He began to read several of the machines around the boy, mumbling chants of operation under his breath. The smell of incense soon perfumed the air. It was the second man that drew his notice, though.

Standing quite tall, his neck tattoo clearly showed him to be a member of the aristocracy. His large jaw was square, and he was in need of a shave. His eyes were a harsh shade of blue. His greying hair, originally a rich red, was done in a crew cut, and his left ear was badly torn up. As he gazed upon the boy, he gave a small smile.

"I'll give you one thing, boy," he began, "you gave us one hell of a run. Most hekmaioikoi give up long before you did. And certainly none of them managed to take down one of our own hounds before."

"Do I win a medal?" the boy asked, the sarcasm evident in his voice.

If his comment fazed the large man, he gave no sign. "You've got a sharp tongue, boy, and no respect for authority. We'll have to work on that."

The boy was somewhat confused by the man's words. "What are you talking ab…"

The man interrupted. "What's your name, boy?"

He thought for a moment before answering. Once he realized that any answer he gave would cross-referenced with the Arbites network, he answered, "Ivan, out of Natalya by Volodya." Only as an afterthought did he add, "Property of the Alcmaeonidae."

Nodding slowly, the man answered, "Good. Call me when he's in top form." The medicae officer nodded and the massive man in Arbite armour left the room before Ivan could ask any questions.

Turning his heavy head towards the elderly officer, he asked, "What's going to happen to me?"

The officer's eyes whirred as they took in the boy's prostrate form. "I am forbidden to speak with you. That's all I can say. Speak more, and I've been ordered to increase your drug dosage."

Ivan fell silent, and allowed the officer to finish his work.

* * *

For the next two days Ivan was forced to remain in bed. He tried to get up twice, both times resulting in alarms, and so he simply lay on the bed. His strength began to return to him slowly. He had heard the Hunter Hound's saliva contained a number of natural narcotics to allow them to force a person rapidly into submission. Only now did he realize the truth of these tales.

On the third day of his confinement, he had another visitor. As she walked into the room, he gasped slightly. The woman before him was gorgeous. Her red hair curled at chin length, and her turquoise eyes identified her as a Cadian. Her facial features seemed so soft, and her figure… he couldn't even begin to describe it to himself. Some would have called her slim, hard body unattractive, but he certainly wouldn't. The woman looked at him for a moment, her harsh eyes giving him the once over. At last she spoke, although, it wasn't the angelic lilting he had expected.

"Get up. You're coming with me."

The voice was the same harsh one that had forced the Hunter Hound's to heel. Beginning to reassess his original opinion of the woman before him, he stood up. As he stepped forward, she clamped his hands in brutally heavy irons that soon began to cut into his wrists. Before he could even cry out, she clamped another pair onto his ankles; the two sets of irons were connected by a short iron chain that forced him to hunch over slightly.

Thrusting her picturesque face towards the door, she said, "March."

Ivan, catching as much a view of her figure as he could from the corner of his eye, stepped out into the hall. Three more Arbites stood out there, but unlike the woman, they were in full armour. The helmet and shoulder mounted lights were currently off, but their executioner shotguns rested in the hands of two of them. The third held the leash of a Battle Hound, a larger and more powerful form of the Hunter Hound. Rumour said their saliva was lethal, and after finding out the truth about the Hunter Hounds, Ivan was in no hurry to prove this rumour.

The small group made their way down the hall, Ivan in the center, travelling behind the tall woman. The trip itself was arduous, as the irons he wore were designed to cut into his flesh, leaving a trail of blood dribbling down his arms and off his bare feet. The short length of the chain kept him hunched over painfully, and the short length of the irons connecting his feet were too short, forcing him to take two steps to her one. Still, the somewhat insidious lecher had to admit he had a nice view of certain aspects of his jailor.

The small group entered a room that was completely black save for a small rise that was bathed in an overhead light. Forced to step upon it, he was chained on the platform by his ankles. His wrists were released from their current chains, exposing the hot wounds to the stinging air, and then clamped into two small columns rising out of the platform on either side of him. His small frame meant that he felt rather stretched out, and his muscles began to cramp almost instantly. Those thoughts were in the back of his mind as he became aware of the promethium jets surrounding the platform, ready to roast him alive in seconds when they were so inclined to do so.

His jailors disappeared into the shadows around him, and he let out an audible gasp as three more lights revealed three men seated before him. The two on either side he couldn't recognize, but the man in the middle was the massive man who had come to visit him before.

Slamming a massive gavel on the stand, the massive man spoke, his every words recorded by the Administratum scribe at his back.

"Case number 2547, on 132 732M41, Chief Arbite Marcus out of Eudoxia by Arkadios of the proud Alcmaeonidae, presiding."

Ivan's eyes jumped at the realization of his jailor's identity. This wasn't a mere Arbite Lieutenant, but the Chief of the entire hive-city. Not only that, he was a member of the family who, according to law, owned him.

"Standing before me is the defendant, one Ivan out of Natalya by Volodya, who by his own volition is the property of the Alcmaeonidae. He is accused of breaking the law, and it is the decision of this court that he is indeed guilty."

_Efficient Imperial justice,_ Ivan thought as the decision was read out.

"It is the decision of this court that he repays the society he so wrongly took from through a lifetime of service to the Adeptus Arbites. May the Emperor have mercy upon you."

The gavel again cracked on the table, and with that the lights were raised in the room. The three judges rose from their seats, and everyone began to move around. The beautiful woman from before walked over to his podium, and removed his cruel shackles. His wounds stung, but the words of Chief Arbite Marcus bounced around his head. _An Arbite…_

* * *

The loud music echoed around the small room, the pounding rhythms shaking through his core. Ivan was lying on the floor, stretching out his aching frame. He ran a hand over his chest and winced as it ran over his bruises. Training was proving to be a rather painful process.

Nearly a year since his sentence had been laid down had passed, and the joy at achieving something he had deemed impossible had disappeared almost immediately. He found himself in a brutal training regimen, which pushed him to and beyond his limits. As he lay on the ground, wondering whether or not his ribs were broken, he ran through it in his mind.

_Up at five for a three mile run, followed by a light breakfast, followed by orthography, followed by another physical fitness regimen, followed by afternoon prayers(please, Emperor, release me from this torment), followed by cleaning anything and everything, and finally supper and sleep. That's a thirty-two hour day. Excess time taken from my sleep._

Deciding his ribs weren't broken, he dropped his hand down to his side. Ivan glanced at the small statue of the Emperor in the niche on his wall. Making a quick sign of the aquila, he stood up, his muscles stiff. His recent training focused on hand to hand fighting. At first, he had been excited when he learned his instructor was Cassandra, the turquoise eyed guard from before. After his second trip to the medicae facility following her sparring sessions, he wasn't quite so excited. Staggering over to his table, he sat down and began to eat the bread and fruit on it.

The training was becoming harder, and more painful. So intent was Ivan on his misery that he couldn't see just what the training was doing for him. He couldn't see that the three miles each morning was now all too easy to accomplish, he couldn't see that his lean figure was tight with sinew and muscle; all that had his attention was that tooth that was still loose after a shot from Cassandra in the face.

The chime on the door rang out, and through pure instinct, he had his gun out and levelled at the door. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, he slid the pistol back into its holster, and walked to the door, taking a quick moment to pull on some pants first.

"If you took any longer to answer the door, I would have broken it down," Cassandra said as he opened the heavy synth-wood door.

"If my ribs weren't broken, maybe I could have moved that much faster."

"I very much doubt that. Would you turn that music off?" She shouted over the loud pounding notes as the lead singer screamed.

"No."

Shooting him a glare that would have left him a wreck had he not been exhausted and pissed off, she walked over and turned off the player on the wall. Ivan said nothing else, and sat down for his Spartan meal. Cassandra walked over and sat down on the chair opposite his.

"I'm assuming you came for a purpose. To pour some salt in my wounds, perhaps," Ivan said, gesturing towards the cuts on his arms.

Her glare was venomous, "Why are you always so frakking sarcastic after a good spar?"

"Good spar!? I damn near die every time!"

"Don't blame me if you can't fight."

"For the Emperor's sake, you're my fight instructor. Of course I'm blaming you."

"Should I come back when you're in a less combative frame of mind?" She said, rising from her seat.

Ivan said nothing, chewing quietly on his bread.

Cassandra, pissed off at his silence, started walking out the door. She stopped short, though; turning around, she drove a large knife into Ivan's table. Ivan knocked his chair backwards, and lowered into a fighting crouch. When she made no move to attack him, he rose up and gestured towards the knife.

"What's that for?"

Cassandra looked at him, her face blank of emotion. She turned and walked out of the room, shouting over her shoulder, "Happy Birthday, Ivan."

Left alone in his room, Ivan looked at the door, and then at the knife lodge in the table.

"Frak."

* * *

His birthday.

He had managed to forget his own birthday.

Truth be told, it wasn't much of a shock. His family had never been very wealthy, or even decently off, so there was never any celebration of birthdays when he was younger. He'd heard of some families that had so much wealth, they could actually afford to buy their children gifts for their birthdays. Personally, Ivan was happy when his family had enough for food.

What did come as a shock was that, not only had someone actually remembered, but had gone out of their way to buy him a present.

"Frak."

He took another swig of amasec before slamming the bottle down on the table. In his left hand rested the knife that Cassandra had bought him. It wasn't anything really fancy. It was exactly what he'd expect from the Spartan-minded Cadians- functional, without any extraneous trappings. The blade was about a foot and a half long, more a short sword than a knife. Perfectly straight, the blade was made of folded layers of hard and soft steel, making the knife sharp and durable. Although only the one edge was a blade, the other was lined with wicked looking bards, for the purpose of hooking flesh. The handle was actual wood, wrapped in good, brown leather, with a large brass hilt-guard, so the user could avoid cutting himself. It was bare of all ornamentation, save the prayer she must have had carved into the blade:

_I am His servant_

_I shall not fear_

_To serve Him is all_

_The h__eretic's death _

_His wish_

_His desire_

_His command _

_Which I answer_

_Death comes for me_

_You come with me_

_A beautiful death_

_If you, foul heretic, if_

_You come with me_

_Happy 15__th__, Ivan_

"Frak."

He was fifteen years old. Ivan, in the eyes of his world, had risen to manhood. An auspicious day that even his impoverished family would have had to recognize. And what had he done? He'd managed to go out of his way to offend the one person on the entire world who'd remembered; who, despite not being a member of his culture, had respected his traditions enough to fulfill a role no one else could fill, and his response had been to all but backhand her in the face.

Ivan was glad that she wasn't a member of his culture. Some people he knew had killed for a lot less.

And now, to top matters off, he was drunk.

Draining the remainder of the bottle, he was tempted to throw it against the wall, until he realized he'd be forced to clean up the glass when he sobered up. Still, he did feel the need to break something. Lifting his intoxicated form out of his chair, he left his room and headed for the training room, his new knife in the scabbard on his belt.

He spent a long time in that room, punching his fists not into the usual punching bag, but one of the walls. His knuckles were bloody and stung, but the pain only helped fuel the anger at himself, and so he hit harder, faster, and more furiously. He landed a couple of kicks on the wall, his heavy boots creating a massive boom and a dent in the wall.

"Care to work off some of your frustration?" A hard yet feminine voice spoke behind him. Turning around, he saw Cassandra. Dressed in typical arbite's dress, she'd doffed the flak armour for greater movement, and was currently pulling her hair back. Saying nothing, Ivan removed his scabbard and knife, placing them on the floor. The two walked onto the mat, and began.

Cassandra came at him fast, her left fist shooting out for his face. Grabbing her wrist with his right hand, Ivan landed two blows with his left. If she felt them, she gave not inclination, driving her knee into his stomach and twisting, throwing Ivan off balance. As he hit the floor, she gave him a savage kick to the ribs. Having learned from past sparring sessions that she wouldn't let up, he instead grabbed her leg and rolled her onto the floor. He threw a left hook into her face, making her head bounce off the floor. Cassandra threw her lower body upright, flipping Ivan onto his back. Both the combatants quickly scrambled to their feet, and began to circle one another.

Ivan knew that, in the best of circumstances, Cassandra could beat him, let alone now. She had a greater reach then he did, far more experience, and the personality of a rabid wolf. However, she did have one fault. She was arrogant of her own abilities, totally convinced of her own superiority on the mat. She had a tendency of not properly guarding herself, and of taking unnecessary risks in a fight. Even now, Ivan could see some gaps in her stance that she'd beaten out of him in previous sessions.

Seeing at least some semblance of an opening, Ivan rushed at Cassandra. His trouble got him a kick to the stomach, forcing him to bend over. Cassandra drove her knee into his face, cleaning breaking his nose. Ivan reached up, and drove his fingers into a pressure point in her neck, causing her to cry out. Her right fist cracked into the side of his head, driving him once again to the floor. Wrapping his legs around hers, he twisted and brought Cassandra down. Not giving her any time to recover, he quickly leapt upon her, pinning her arms out to either side of her, and driving his forehead into her face. Cassandra struggled, but couldn't dislodge his hard grip.

"So, is that it?" Ivan asked, disbelieving that he'd actually beat the Cadian daemon.

"Not quite," Cassandra said. Ivan had sat far too high up on her stomach. She reached her legs up, and wrapped them around his head. Although she couldn't manage to get around his neck for a choke hold, she could drive her calves into his broken nose. As soon as she did just that, Ivan released her right hand, seeking to end this fight with him, for once, the victor. Unfortunately, that was all she needed, thrusting her right fist into his broken nose. The pain at last made its way into Ivan's drink-addled brain, forcing him to drop his guard further. Three hits later, and it was over.

The two combatants lay upon the mat. Ivan was exhausted and in pretty rough shape. His hand wrappings were red with his mostly his own blood, although some of it was Cassandra's. His torso was sore where Cassandra had struck him repeatedly; he knew without looking that it was already bruising. His lungs heaved, feeding air to his oxygen-starved muscles. He turned his head, and spat a large wad of blood that was dribbling into his throat from his broken nose. A shadow passed over him. Opening his eyes, he saw Cassandra standing over him.

"Sit up," she said. Bringing himself into an upright position despite his body's complaints, he bit his tongue to keep from crying out as she straightened his broken nose without warning. Looking at her face, Ivan could tell she'd already done her own. Letting a smile cross her brick-hard features, she said something that made Ivan groan on the inside.

"Well, that was fun."

* * *

_Damn it, just say it!_

After waking up the medicae officer to patch them up, Cassandra had insisted taking Ivan out for a drink. Had it been a year or so ago, back when his infatuation with her was still strong, Ivan would've jumped at the opportunity. Now, though, things were different.

First of all, his imagination didn't have him looking like he'd gone three rounds with Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka

Second, he didn't think he'd already be drunk when the two went to the bar.

Third, if he even suggested what had happened in his fantasy, she'd probably kill him.

The last problem, though, was one he'd not been expecting. He had offended her before, and knew that he had been in the wrong. Despite that knowledge, he just couldn't admit, to himself or to her, that he was sorry.

_Damnation, why can't I just say it?_

Lifting his glass, he took a deep swig of amasec. Made from wine, it was the predominant alcoholic beverage in the Imperium, or so he'd been told. Most people he knew couldn't afford it, and made due with whatever mud the proprietor said had some semblance of alcohol in it. Compared to the bitter swill he'd forced down what felt like so many years ago, amasec was sweet and silky on his throat.

Cassandra hadn't said too much since they'd arrived, and neither had Ivan himself. Truth be told, he was still afraid of her, after all this time. It wasn't even because she was bug-nut insane, but because she was… well, a she. Ivan had had no previous experience with any women who weren't family or prostitutes.

"What are you doing?" Cassandra asked, breaking the awkward silence which was pervading their table. Looking down, Ivan saw that he'd started shuffling his Tarot deck.

"Sorry, nervous habit."

Cassandra said nothing, but instead drew out her wallet, placing it on the table. Ivan was blank faced for a moment, then drew his own wallet with a smile. "The game is a standard five card. Minimum buy-in of five credits, Inquisitors wild."

Ivan and Cassandra played well into the night, whilst working their way through no fewer than five bottles of amasec. Cassandra proved to be a very capable player, but overly competitive. Whenever she had a good hand, she looked like a mutie who'd cornered a rat he'd been chasing after. That said, luck was on her side, and she won enough small hands to avoid being taken out of the game.

"So, tell me about yourself," Ivan asked as Cassandra drew another small pile of credits towards her side of the table.

"What do you want to know?" Cassandra said, seeming a tad hesitant to reveal her past.

"Well, I know you're a Cadian. No other race of men has turquoise eyes. That, and you have a mean right hook." Cassandra smiled at that comment, but the smile faded.

Silence once again fell across the table as Ivan shuffled the cards. Eventually he broke the silence, and said, "Alright, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I was only curious."

As he dealt the cards, Cassandra said, "No, don't worry about it. I know everything about you, so you should have the same chance.

"I was born on Cadia. I don't know what you know about the world."

I van shrugged and said, "I know it stares into the Eye of Terror, and has fought in each and every Black Crusade of Chaos without falling."

"I think everyone knows that. It's a point of pride for the Imperium that, despite numerous Black Crusades over the centuries, the world has never fallen. Its men and women are touted throughout the Imperium as the supreme example of… well, everything. Tales of Cadians sacrificing themselves so their comrades can have the necessary moments to accomplish a task elicits awe from the rest of the Imperium, but is common to the point of normalcy on Cadia itself.

"It is a beautiful world, but it is harsh. By the time I was five, I was already learning how to march in formation and mastering standard marksmanship. Endurance, hand to hand, fire patterns- all engrained at a young age. We are arranged in White Shield squadrons in our early teens. Most of us will see combat with Shock Troops at this time.

"Of course, this is where the waters are muddied. You see, the men of Cadia will all find themselves in the Imperial Guard until death. Women are a different matter. Children are a much needed commodity in a world with such a high attrition rate. So, I was married off at seventeen."

Well, that wasn't what he'd been expecting. Ivan choked a little on his amasec as she said that. It was hard to picture this piece of warm marble as a married woman.

Cassandra had fallen silent. Ivan said, "Cassandra?"

Looking up, Ivan saw no tears, but there was indeed hurt in her eyes. "He died. His regiment fought on Armageddon against the Orks. I'm told there was an ambush, and he was killed in the crossfire."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He died the way any man should."

Ivan exchanged one card in his hand as he asked, "So, how did you wind up in the Arbites?"

"Shortly after he passed on, I was injured by a frag grenade during a training run." Ivan wasn't exactly surprised Cadians used live weapons during their training. "I lost my daughter."

"Emperor's Blood," Ivan whispered under his breath.

"I was gutted by the damn thing. I can't bear anymore children, so I never remarried. I also decided that there were enough enemies within the Imperium that I wasn't needed on Cadia, so I joined the Arbites. They posted me here."

Ivan couldn't believe how little emotion her face betrayed. He'd heard that Cadians were a hard people, but this level of emotional control was beyond anything he'd ever thought humanly possible.

"I call. What's your hand?" Cassandra asked Ivan.

Laying down his hand, Ivan said, "Emperors over Ecclesiarches."

He reached for the chips, but Cassandra stopped him. "One Emperor and three Inquisitors."

She let another small smile flash over her hard features as she moved the pile of credits her way. Ivan drained the last of his amasec, and glanced at his watch.

"Emperor's bowels! It's six in the morning." Ivan considered getting up to leave, but then thought it through. "Is it even worth going to bed for one hour of sleep?"

"Not really. It IS worth going to breakfast and taking a shower, though."

Ivan knew that this was going to be a long day. Still, he had to admit, it had been a good day. Well, minus winding up twice in the medicae facility, not getting any sleep, drinking all night and pretty much guaranteeing a hangover of epic proportions later in the day. Still, it's what probably would have happened had he remained in the lower levels of the Hive.

* * *

Several months later, Ivan stood on top of a small platform. Three other cadets he'd never before laid eyes one stood next to him. Arms crossed behind his back in parade rest, Ivan stared straight forward, not making eye contact with any present. Chief Arbite Marcus stood on a slightly higher podium, and was making a speech. Ivan struggled not to look too bored with the proceedings.

"The Emperor has given us so much; so much that we can never hope to repay Him. And yet, there are those within His domains who believe that they deserve more. They take from Him what He gives them freely, and have the audacity to not only ask for more, but to take it from His righteous servants."

_How many times did I hear this speech in class?_ Ivan thought, suppressing a yawn.

"These men and women you see before you have seen the heresy they have committed, and have decided that they will not let it stand. After 2 years of training, they are ready to begin their personal crusade to purge this world of the element of filth that it possesses. Assembled guests, I hereby proclaim them fully fledged members of the Adeptus Arbites!"

As the arena resounded with applause, the students snapped to attention. Turning to the left, Ivan and his fellow graduates gave a salute to the Chief. Returning the salute, they about-faced, and walked off the stage. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Ivan loosened the collar of his dress uniform, and walked over to the large snack table. Sampling a few of the oysters after drowning them in fish sauce, he grabbed himself a glass of amasec.

"So, I suppose congratulations are in order, then," a voice said behind Ivan. Turning, he saw a tall man in a fine suit. Made of red silk with golden thread, it was trimmed in fur. Despite having a rather impressive gut on him, indicative of a man of wealth, his arm muscles were quite well developed, showing even through the voluminous robes he wore. His face was part hidden by a massive red beard and moustache, braided so as to uncover his mouth. Ivan looked down and took the proffered hand.

"I thank you."

"You looked rather bored up there, lad."

Ivan winced a little on the inside, although his stony face betrayed nothing. "I thought I'd done a better job of hiding it than that."

Chuckling, the man answered, "Forget it, lad, these events seem designed to be intentionally boring. Emperor alone knows why."

Grabbing a glass of amasec from a passing servitor, the man held his glass up a little, and said, "To the Emperor." All within earshot, Ivan included, held up their glasses, and echoed his toast. Drinking from his glass, Ivan made a mental note of which glass he was on. No point in getting drunk and making a fool out of himself in front of such a dignified crowd.

"Tell me, lad, have you ever been hunting?"

Ivan immediately began to revise his opinion of the man before him. Many of the nobility held the belief that those who were not of their blood weren't human. As such, many would go hunting in the Under Hive, killing innocent men and women for sport.

"No, I haven't" he answered, hiding his rage behind his stony façade.

"It's a pity. I organize an expedition to hunt Carnodon each year. If you're interested, perhaps you might like to come along." Ivan was confused by this turn of conversation, and it must have showed on his face, as the man answered his unspoken question, "We travel to Novgorod Secondus."

Ivan's rage immediately dissipated as the man confirmed that he was not, in fact, hunting Under Hivers.

"What's your name, lad?" The big man questioned in his booming voice.

"Ivan, out of Natalya by Volodya."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, lad," the big man said, taking his leave of him.

Ivan wasn't alone for very long before Cassandra came over, and said to him, "Do you have any idea who that was?"

"No."

"That was Governor-Militant Alexander himself."

Ivan's jaw dropped almost as fast as his glass. "Well, this should be interesting."


End file.
